Chattering and squealing, the sisters hurried into the receiving room and piled the gifts on a satinwood table. They opened each parcel with scrupulous care, unfolding the gift tissue and smoothing each piece before placing it on an accumulating stack that resembled the froth of freshly poured milk.
There were more gloves, dyed in delicate shades of violet and aqua… tins of sweets… pleated paper fans with gold and silver embossing… novels and a book of poetry, and bottles of flower water to be used for the complexion or the bath, or sprinkled on the bed pillows. Although none of it was appropriate, except perhaps the books, Kathleen couldn’t find it in her heart to object. The girls had long been deprived of small luxuries.
She knew that Theo would never have thought of bringing gifts home for his sisters. And despite the family’s relative proximity to London, the girls had never been to Winterborne’s. Neither had Kathleen, since Lady Berwick had disliked the notion of rubbing elbows in a large store crowded with people from all walks of life. She had insisted instead on frequenting tiny, exclusive shops, where merchandise was kept discreetly out of sight rather than spread willy-nilly over the counters.
Stealing glances at West, Kathleen was disconcerted by the flashes of resemblance he bore to his older brother, the same dark hair and assertive bone structure. But Devon’s striking good looks were marred in his brother, whose features were ruddy and soft with dissipation. West was nothing if not well-groomed – in fact, he dressed too lavishly for Kathleen’s taste, wearing an embroidered silk waistcoat and jaunty patterned necktie, and gold cuff links set with what were either garnets or rubies. Even now at midday, he smelled strongly of liquor.
“You may not want to glare at me quite so fiercely,” West murmured to Kathleen sotto voce, as the sisters gathered up their gifts and carried them from the room. “It would distress the girls if they were to realize how much you dislike me.”
“I disapprove of you,” she replied gravely, walking out to the grand staircase with him. “That’s not the same as dislike.”
“Lady Trenear, I disapprove of me.” He grinned at her. “So we have something in common.”
“Mr. Ravenel, if you —”
“Mightn’t we call each other cousin?”
“No. Mr. Ravenel, if you are to spend a fortnight here, you will conduct yourself like a gentleman, or I will have you forcibly taken to Alton and tossed onto the first railway car that stops at the station.”
West blinked and looked at her, clearly wondering if she was serious.
“Those girls are the most important thing in the world to me,” Kathleen said. “I will not allow them to be harmed.”
“I have no intention of harming anyone,” West said, offended. “I’m here at the earl’s behest to talk to a set of clodhoppers about their turnip planting. As soon as that’s concluded, I can promise you that I’ll return to London with all possible haste.”
Clodhoppers? Kathleen drew in a sharp breath, thinking of the tenant families and the way they worked and persevered and endured the hardships of farming… all to put food on the table of men such as this, who looked down his nose at them.
“The families who live here,” she managed to say, “are worthy of your respect. Generations of tenant farmers built this estate – and precious little reward they’ve received in return. Go into their cottages, and see the conditions in which they live, and contrast it with your own circumstances. And then perhaps you might ask yourself if you’re worthy of their respect.”
“Good God,” West muttered, “my brother was right. You do have the temperament of a baited badger.”
They exchanged glances of mutual loathing and walked away from each other.
Fortunately the girls kept the conversation cheerful at dinner. Only Helen seemed to notice the bitter tension between Kathleen and West, sending Kathleen discreet glances of concern. With each course, West asked for new wine, obliging the underbutler to fetch bottle after bottle from the cellar. Fuming at his wastefulness, Kathleen bit her tongue to keep from commenting as he became increasingly soused. At the conclusion of the meal, Kathleen ushered the girls upstairs, leaving West alone at the table with a bottle of port.
In the morning Kathleen rose early, dressed in her riding habit, and went out to the stable as usual. With the assistance of Mr. Bloom, the stable master, she was training Asad to resist shying at objects that frightened him. Bloom accompanied her out to the paddock as she led Asad with a special training halter.
Kathleen had quickly come to value Bloom’s advice. He did not believe that physically restraining a horse, especially an Arabian, was the right way to help him overcome his fear. “Tha would only break his spirit, binding him up like a fly in a spider’s web. ’Appen he’ll take his reassurance from thee, milady. He’ll trust tha to keep him safe and know what’s best for him.”
At Bloom’s direction, Kathleen grasped the lead rope under Asad’s chin and guided him to take a step forward and then a step back.
“Again,” Bloom said approvingly. “Back’ard and for’ard, and again.”
Asad was perplexed but willing, moving back and forth easily, almost as if he were learning to dance.
“Well done, lass,” Bloom praised, so involved in the training that he forgot to address Kathleen by her title. “Now tha’s taking up all his thoughts and leaving no room for fear.” He placed a crop in Kathleen’s left hand. “This is for tha to tap his side if need be.” Standing by Asad’s side, he began to unfold a black umbrella. The horse started and nickered, instinctively cringing away from the unfamiliar object. “This umbrolly scares tha a bit, lad, doesn’t it?” He closed and opened the umbrella repeatedly, while telling Kathleen, “Make the task tha’s given him more important than the thing that scares him.”
Kathleen continued to move Asad in the back-and-forth step, distracting him from the threatening movement of the billowing black object. When he tried to swing his hindquarters away, she tapped him back into place with a touch of the crop, not allowing him to put distance between himself and the umbrella. Although Asad was clearly uneasy, his ears swiveling in every direction, he did exactly as she commanded. His hide twitched nervously at the umbrella’s proximity… but he didn’t shy away.
When Bloom finally closed the umbrella, Kathleen grinned and patted Asad’s neck with affectionate pride. “Good boy,” she exclaimed. “You’re a fast learner, aren’t you?” She took a carrot stub from the pocket of her skirt and gave it to him. Asad accepted the treat, crunching noisily.
“Next we’ll try it as tha rides him —” Bloom began.
He was interrupted by a stable boy, Freddie, who hadn’t yet reached his teenage years. “Mr. Bloom,” the boy said breathlessly, hurrying up to the paddock railing, “The head groom bade me tell you that Mr. Ravenel has come to the stables for his mount.”